


one trouble is more than enough

by missymeggins



Category: Haven - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:59:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missymeggins/pseuds/missymeggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She kisses him on the cheek and it’s so unexpected, so unwarranted that at first he wonders if what he’s feeling is really her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one trouble is more than enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weird_fin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weird_fin/gifts).



She kisses him on the cheek and it’s so unexpected, so _unwarranted_ that at first he wonders if what he’s feeling is really her. It could just be an attempt to fill in the blanks because the thing is, he’s made it a habit not to touch or be touched so that he doesn’t have to feel… well _nothing_. 

He makes it a point not to touch people at all because it’s an empty reminder of everything he’s missing. It doesn’t make sense really but it’s somehow less painful to simply exist with a kind of bubble around him rather than have people bump into him, brush past him with their shoulders, or a thumb brush over his knuckle as his partner passes him a cup of coffee and not feel it. The not feeling it when he _knows_ it’s happening is infinitely worse than the not feeling of keeping his distance so no one has the opportunity to touch him in the first place.

He’s perfected the art and over the years most of Haven have become accustomed to it; they follow his lead and respect the bubble.

Now his life exists full of blank spaces where everyday touch is supposed to be and a beautiful woman kissing his cheek _should_ be one of them so maybe he’s projecting. The mind is capable of inventing all kinds of realities for those who want them desperately enough.

But he knows that’s not really it. 

She kissed him and he didn’t just feel it on on his cheek. He felt it tingling in his fingers because he wants to reach out and touch her skin now that he knows it will feel of _something_. 

Instead he lifts a hand to his own cheek, as if he could echo her touch, but there’s nothing there but the fading sensation of her lips. 

 

 

He seeks it out now. A high five here, an innocuous finger brush there, and Audrey doesn’t notice. 

Not when he pretends he can't walk in a straight line just so that he can stumble and bump into her hip with his. 

Not when he lingers as she hands him coffee so that their fingers stay touching for just a few seconds longer. 

Not when he finds himself reaching out to touch her hair - 

"What are you doing?” she asks, turning sharply and narrowing her eyes at his hand hovering close to her face. 

He stumbles to find an explanation, caught off guard by her keen awareness (something he really shouldn’t be surprised by at this point), but all he comes up with is a flimsy excuse that falls awkwardly out of his mouth.

“You had uh - a stick or something in your hair. I was just trying to… you know we really should go interview the suspect.”

She narrows her eyes at him, as though he might give a more reasonable explanation if she waits long enough. She does. But a better explanation never comes so she simply shakes her head and strides on ahead of him muttering less under her breath than he suspects she intended to so that her words are actually quite clear to his ears. 

(Then again maybe she’s exactly as audible as she wanted to be.)

“Just when I started to think you weren’t as weird as the rest of this town.”

All he can do is smile. 

 

 

He becomes more careless in seeking her touch and her awareness only increases. He should stop, he knows, before she thinks he’s completely lost his mind, or worse that he’s deliberately overstepping the boundaries of their relationship (which he absolutely knows he is) but he finds that he can’t help himself. 

(And he’s not sure if he really wants to.)

It’s addictive. The ability to feel again is intoxicating in a way he hasn’t experienced since his few ventures into reckless drinking as a teenager, something he makes a point not to repeat too often these days. The last thing he needs is to be drunk and numb and unaware of any physical injury. 

It makes him rather boring truth be told. And not just boring, it makes him _bored_. His life has lacked so much in intoxicating experiences until now but the shock of sensation in his skin is making him almost brazen in desperation for more. 

(It’s melodramatic and not particularly true but there are brief moments in which he wonders if this is what heroin feels like.)

“What are you doing?” she says abruptly when he puts his hand on the small of her back as if to guide her. 

“Uh,” he stumbles, finding himself at a loss for an explanation he hasn’t already used by now.

“I can walk down the main street of Haven by myself you know,” Audrey huffs impatiently. “I really don’t need your help Nathan.” 

“Right. Of course you don’t. Sorry. Instinct I guess,” he shrugs apologetically.

“No it’s not,” she counters sharply, fixing him with a suspicious glare. “You never do that. For anyone. You’re practically allergic to touching people.”

She turns to continue and his hand hovers of it’s own accord. He’s not even touching her but she can feel him. 

“Ok that’s it,” she says, turning and slapping his hand away. “You lead,” she says putting her hand firmly in the middle of his back and pushing him forward. 

He thinks it’s lucky she’s behind him now because the grin on his face would probably do nothing to placate her. 

 

 

His fingers playing with her hair, twisting it gently around his fingers. The warmth of her skin against his sends his heart racing so hard it jolts him awake into his bed and reality. 

(But he could swear he feels an echo of her fingers tingling over his skin.)

He’s begun to dream of her now. 

Waking and sleeping she invades him, skin on skin, desire and affection, and he is verging on dependent, seeking a fix wherever he can and damning the consequences. 

It’s kind of a problem. 

And he needs it to stop. 

 

 

He hands her a cup of coffee. 

He hands it to her in such a way that their fingers cannot possibly touch. 

They walk side by side through the town and he holds his hands like a soldier, rigid and tight against his body, matching her step for step so that he is never behind her, never faced with the temptation to rest his hand against the small of her back as he would so like to. 

If Haven has taught him anything it is that it is far too dangerous to allow yourself to be controlled by emotion. One never knows where that may lead and his desire to feel again, to feel her touch is beginning to consume him in a way that makes him nervous. 

One Trouble is enough. He has no desire to create a second. 

He needs to be in control again. He needs to use the bubble even more consciously when it comes to Audrey. He needs to know where she is, remain aware, so that even the possibility for legitimately accidental touching is minimised.

“Hey Nathan? Nathan, come on, snap out of it.” 

Audrey waves her hand on front of his face. She grins at him as his eyes return their focus to her. 

And then she gives him a playful slap to his cheek sending shock waves right through him, like the first time she touched him only with a brand new revelation. 

This, he thinks, is so much better than the orchestrated touches of the past few weeks. 

This is Audrey touching him of her own accord. This is Audrey and him, building….well god only knows what. A partnership, a friendship, maybe more. 

It’s slow and it’s uncertain but it’s organic and he’ll take a slap in the face or a high five if it comes from her and it’s intentional. 

Because it’s not really the _touch_ that makes him feel alive. 

It’s her.


End file.
